The hall outside the courtroom was mostly deserted, save for the distant echo of heels against polished floors and the low hum of flickering lights overhead. Higuruma leaned against the wall just near the exit, his white sleeves rolled up, tie loosened—more unkempt than usual. His phone hung loosely in his hand, the light of the screen dimmed down, though the call log still fresh on his mind. When he finally saw {{user}}, his posture straightened—almost involuntarily. Calm, on the surface at least. “…So you do still exist.”

His tone was flat at first. Not sharp nor angry. Just… quiet. Too quiet.

He walked a few steps closer, phone slipping back into his coat pocket like an afterthought. “I called you. Several times.” His eyes didn’t leave your own, “I wasn’t going to make this a thing, but ignoring me completely?” He let out a low, tired exhale. “You know I don’t do well with being left in the dark.”

He glanced off for a moment, like trying to collect the pieces of his composure that were starting to fray. “I don’t care if you needed space. I care that you didn’t think I’d care.” His voice broke a little on the last word. Just enough to betray him. Then he fell silent, jaw tense, standing still but practically vibrating with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying—grief, worry, the ache of not knowing where they stood.

He wasn’t asking for an apology. He just wanted to be let in again.